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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370190">together like black and white</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata'>ninata</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/stay night &amp; Related Fandoms, ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Character Study, Drabbles, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Poetry, Tag As I Go, Unrequited Love, just another dumping ground, slowburn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:28:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A place to put my non-smut work for Melvin and Waver! Isn't that nice. (check notes for content warnings for each chapter.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iskandar | Rider &amp; Waver Velvet, Waver Velvet/Melvin Waynez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. poem: he asked his mother to plant forget-me-nots in the garden after he passed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>let's start with a poem, shall we?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>if you're going to live forever,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i hope you'd remember me,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>peeking past doors,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>barging in uninvited</span>
</p><p>
  <span>a general nuisance</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>if you're going to live forever,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i hope you'd remember me,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>dirtying your furniture,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>your clothing, laughing</span>
</p><p>
  <span>with unnatural cadence</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>if you're going to hike up that mountain,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i hope you'd remember me,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>who doubled over at the distance,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>laughing about bad knees,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>and bloody tissues</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>if you're going to go see the ocean,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i hope you'd remember me,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>with a parasol in hand,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>red in the face, summer things</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i'd never given use</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>and if you're going to seek the horizon,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>in an endless battle, smiling,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>and in death, live forever,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>hiking up that mountain,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>searching for an endless sea,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>beside the man you loved instead of me,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>i'd hope you'd give me the pleasure</span>
</p><p>
  <span>of a thought every now and then</span>
</p><p>
  <span>long, long after i'd coughed my last</span>
</p><p>
  <span>and you'd forgotten what my voice</span>
</p><p>
  <span>sounded like when i called your name</span>
</p><p>
  <span>so often,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>so long ago</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the big lonely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Melvin is on a tiny island in a vast, red sea.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings for a candid relationship w death, drugs and sex, lots of blood vomiting (as is typical for the melvin)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Melvin shudders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders shake, and another heave comes— blood bursts out of his mouth in a shimmering cloud of crimson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a cold night. He can’t expect polite company to witness an episode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a wet bench in London, Melvin shivers, clutching the sleeves of his shirt tensely as the rain pours down. No man nor spirit comes down his way, no fluttering gaze of a passerby who doesn’t want to ask this well-dressed man, pale as the moon above with blood all down his front, if he’s alright. That’s understandable. Melvin can mourn that loneliness some other day, when he’s on his deathbed and he remembers again how lonely all this is. The flirting, the sleeping around, the business and whispering and retching in alleyways, left for dead. On that day, he’ll hope Mummy Dearest is around to briskly wipe his face and then leave the rest to a maid while she takes a phone call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His only sanctity is in such flighty connections. Such paltry, tenuous ties. If blood connected them, it was only blood as thick as water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chin tilts, taking in a facefull of the freezing, brittle rain, and it feels like it saves him from fainting. He feels perfect in this moment— so alive. So perfectly alive, letting the rainwater clean away his blood and sweat, cling to his eyelashes and the tip of his nose. It’s in the moments you feel so alive, sometimes, that death seems scary. The painful awareness of his blood pumping, the veins in his arms and thighs and the joins that connect his limbs to themselves— all so real, all so fragile. All made of glass. So quick to shatter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he accepted death a long time ago. You can't fear something that follows you so closely for long. He doesn’t want to die, of course, but...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melvin is lit by a bare streetlamp, alone as always. A ghastly apparition. Light hair, clear eyes. Melvin was fond of life— Overly so, thank you. A brute takes the most pleasure in milking life of its bounties. But as he blearily contemplates the night sky, absent of any stars, he wonders if it’d be horrible to go in this way. Forgotten on a street bench in a very expensive pair of slacks and tie, a silk dress shirt. It’d be funny for his maid, Mariah, to frown at his lifeless form, dreading his mother’s response to her negligence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one would miss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing at that, a ghost's ghost of a noise, barely a whisper of breath, he lets his head hang down. The rain continues to beat against him, and he leans against the armrest of the bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't want to move just yet, but he should. He should call his maid. He should draft up an apology for leaving his company so suddenly. But he does none of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Melvin?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps out of his skin. Melvin turns his head with a sense of doom, like the Grim Reaper himself has come down to lop his head off his body with a very sharp scythe, but—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's just good old Waver Velvet, holding an umbrella and looking confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are you—"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here?" Waver cuts him off. He looks smart in his red leather coat, his blue shirt and his red tie. Black vest. Very well put-together. Reines must have dressed him. Melvin admires that for a moment, then lolls his head to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...Oh, you know! Was having dinner with a friend." Melvin says nonchalantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"On a park bench, in the rain?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, haha! It was in a restaurant. I just had an episode, and ended up here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver shifts on his feet. Melvin's gaze falls to the pavement. Of course, no one liked hearing about Melvin’s illness so directly—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamn. You’ve just been sitting out here throwing up? In the </span>
  <em>
    <span>rain?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Waver asks, and Melvin blinks for a moment. Waver was, if anything, not like the people Melvin was used to. His sight climbs back up to meet Waver’s face, and the misty air, the umbrella shading him from the rain and the streetlamp— all so pretty. Waver is pretty. He’s aged beautifully, from a dough-faced runt to a sleek, handsome creature, tall and dark and with the most intelligent, kind eyes. His broad shoulders are dappled with raindrops, his frame so— so solid. Another strange agent to remind Melvin of reality. Waver really is a human-y human, a grounding force. Melvin could even say he feels better just looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Yeah, well, y’know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no big deal. My maids will get me dried off in a jiffy! And I can always call on some lovely lady to warm me up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver makes a face. Melvin tries to laugh, but it’s a sad, odd coughing instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To fall into depravity. To lose himself to avarice, jealousy, lust. That was why Melvin stuck around. To see Waver Velvet fail, that was what he had told himself, was all he wanted anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little pitiful rat like himself. A little underdog with no one in their corner. That was Waver, that was Melvin. If he was scum, so was Waver— so adamantly tearing down those around him to claw his way to the top of the Clock Tower, looking down on others for living a mage’s lifestyle. For killing, for being talented, for seeking the Root. For being unable to— Waver and Melvin had that in common. But where Melvin resigned himself to remain on the bench, watching the game, Waver insisted on going up to bat. So fruitless. Knowing if he swung, he’d miss the ball. Knowing he’d be laughed at for trying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, stand up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver speaks suddenly, folding up and stowing his umbrella. Melvin tilts his head. Waver extends his arm, and that gesture is so like Waver. So self sacrificial. Waver was so cruel, yet so paradoxically kind. Who gave him the nerve?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melvin grabs on. Waver hoists him up, weaving his arms around Melvin’s waist, supporting the arm around Waver’s shoulders. They’d done this too many times. The same song and dance, the same position as usual, with one dancer’s hand just barely brushing the other. Their gait, slow and unsteady, a four-legged beast hobbling through London.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver takes him to his apartment, leaves him on his bed. Melvin strips his wet clothing off, makes his phone calls. He will stay with Waver until he can be picked up. Just a good hour or so to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Waver?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver hums in reply, busy in the kitchen making some tea. Melvin wanders out to the threshold of his bedroom, nude, his bones poking at his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver glances, then hastily looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>opportunity for you to lose that pesky virginity of yours, y’know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A clatter of ceramic against the countertop. Waver dropped the mug, but it didn’t break. Distance was short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-What are you— Weren’t you just sick out of your mind?! I guess you’re feeling better! Great, go put some clothes on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. If Waver was lonely, what did that make Melvin? Waver, with his students. His cohorts, the people who he met during his cases that took a shine to him. His </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What did Melvin have?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Huh? What did he have. Nothing? Money and prostitutes? A little bit of recreational drugs when he felt like it? A big empty mansion, stuffed with furniture and tuning equipment? Empty, cold and wet, wet pound notes, stained with his own stupid blood, shoving it at anyone who would bear to give him the time of day, maybe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Melvin was so unbearably lonely. So terribly lonely. Maybe nothing made things as interesting and fun as Waver did. Maybe Melvin was selfish, and maybe Melvin was in love. Maybe Melvin was in love with another man, he thinks dizzily, and this was his chance to finally take him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s have sex.” Melvin says. “It’d be fun!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver trembles visibly. He doesn’t make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...No? Ah, tough customer! Well, can’t be helped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he retreats to steal clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, the coward gives up. He had known the answer when he asked. That’s right. Because Waver had his love, his quiet love he kept hidden away for a long-dead ghost liner, and Melvin…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wasn’t even a contender. Not even last place, let alone second. All his allure, his perfect keeping, and that would not win him. Part of that was what made things interesting, but for tonight—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For tonight it hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waver brings him a cup of tea and then leaves him be. His maid buzzes in halfway through the mug. He is escorted out, his wet clothes in a plastic shopping bag, dressed in Waver’s slacks and a collared shirt. It smells like his cologne, but is that enough?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melvin sits in the back seat of the car. No words about his health. In fact, the clinical attitude cuts in as soon as the door shuts. Melvin’s smile disappears. They say nothing to each other the whole ride home. He stares out the window of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hopes that the car will crash out of spite, but it doesn’t. They arrive home safely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How lonely and profane. Melvin collapses in his bed. Another loss, huh? Does it sting, Melvin? You’re the unwanted one. The presumptuous one asking too much. His eyes burn. Waver won’t fuck you. He won’t love you either. He won’t say love-love and hold your hands and spin in a circle with you in a field of flowers or whatever ridiculous fantasy you had made up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cold pillows are cold. The cold sheets are cold. The comforter is a cold, wet, unforgiving ocean, swallowing him up. He throws up over the side of the bed, coughing and hacking, seasick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow he will go back to normal. He’ll say he was drunk to Waver. Waver will know it’s a lie, but politely say nothing. And Melvin will go back to lonely, sitting alone on his bench, at the big sportsgame or in the rain, bleeding big red hearts into the cold cold cold cold dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his filthy, unclean feelings will be buried somewhere eventually. He’ll bury them. He has to. It’s the only way he can survive, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>survive— until he dies abruptly with his pants around his ankles with his entire body’s worth of blood in a puddle in front of the toilet, or from some kind of cocktail of drugs and alcohol that turn off the lights for good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s good for him. That’s what he was made for. That’s the only way these things can end up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brute is a brute is a brute, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>long time no see! maybe this is a sign im gonna write more. who knows. i missed it. still love melwav. may write genshin soon! who knows.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow here we go again am i right? i realized i have other things i wanted to write other than just porn, so here's where that's gonna go so i don't clog the tag with all 49 of the fics i'll inevitably write. it's a good strategy, innit.<br/>these are gonna have a lot less connecting them/not necessarily be one continuous work overarching plot wise i don't think, but if things are related i'll let you know. thanks for giving my works a read in advance, guys.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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